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Patricia FumertonEarly Modern Center - English DepartmentUniversity of CaliforniaSanta Barbara, CA 93105United States of AmericaEMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

I. OH, the mighty Innocence Of Russel, Bedfords Son! That dy'd for the Plot, Whether Guilty, or not,By his last (Equivocating) Speech!By the words of a dying manI here protest I know no Plot'Gainst the Life of the King, or Government,Either by Action, or Intent.Fy, fy, fy, fy, fy, fy, my Lord,What are you about to do? To sink to Hell By the sound of your Knell,Both Soul and Body too.II. Oh, the shallow memory Of this blood-thirsty Lord! T' deny and confess, And all to expressHis guilty Insolence the more:I at Mr. Shepherd's houseDid hear some little slight discourse,How easie 'twas the Guards to seize;Yet I am guiltless, if you please;No, no, no, no, no, no, my Lord,Your Guilt's too plainly seen, And M------th too, With Shaftsburys Crew,To destroy both King and Queen.III. Next your Lordship does protest, No man had ever yet That Impudence Against his Prince,To your face to propose any foul Design:Then you confess immediately,At the House of Politick Shaftsbury You heard such words Were sharp as Swords,The worst can be thought, or English affords;Which rais'd your Righteous Spirit toExclaim against their sense; Yet this you conceal'd, And never reveal'd,Till in your blind Defence.

IV.Popery (your Lordship says)Is Bloody and Unjust; What (then) you design'd With those you combin'd,Was farce, to jest our Lives away;For when the Duke of M------th cameT' acquaint your Honour of his FearOf being undone by the heat of some,Too violent for the bloody Cause,Away you go to Shepherds strait,Where pernicious words were said, In Passion all, With Judgment small,But consequence of Dread.V. From the time of choosing Sheriffs, I did conclude the heat Would this produce. That's no excuse,But just Confession of the Fact.Presently your Lordship says,For farther Confirmation still,You are not surpriz'd to find it fallOn your Honour, who deserv'd it all:Immediately you would proclaimAloud your Innocence. Why your Lordship's mad, In a Cause so bad,To put that Sham-pretence.VI. O ye True-blew-Protestants, Whose times are yet to come, You see your Fate; Early or lateFollow you must, 'tis all your Doom.M------h, Armstrong, Ferguson,Grey, Goodenough the Under-Shrieve, With all your Ignoramus Crew, That Justice hate, and Treason brew;Scaffold, Tyburn, Halter, Ax,Those Instruments of Death, As 'tis your due, May 't you pursue,Till you resign your Breath.

Printed by Nath. Thompson, at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden, 1683.